


Incorporeal

by Beltiel



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Magical Stiles Stilinski, Rebuilt Hale House
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 00:07:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15545241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beltiel/pseuds/Beltiel
Summary: in·cor·po·re·alinkôrˈpôrēəlAdjective: not composed of matter; having no material existence.Synonyms: intangible, impalpable, nonphysical; having no physical existence.Stiles has an epiphany duing bro-night with Scott. Derek is unsurprisingly displeased with the results.





	Incorporeal

If you asked, most of the Hale Pack would tell you that this particular Crisis of the Moment started with a bang. A loud, 2am and suddenly we are all awake, bang.

If you asked Scott, he would be absolutely clueless that he was present for the event that actually set things in motion, and it was rather the lack of banging that really put things into perspective for one Stiles Stilinski.

~*~

The furious clicking of controller buttons and the rapid gunfire shots from the TV and console were the only sounds in the room, as the two bros stared at the screen with laser focus.

What? It's Mandatory Bro Night, they're totally bros.

Scott's desperate cry of "On your six, DUDE!", has Stiles tucking forward into a roll that ends with him placed defensively beside the TV, and oh yeah, he's snatched one of his many stashed knives from the entertainment center while he was mid-roll. His eyes rapidly scan the living room for danger as a clueless (his default) Scott watches, mouth gaping in surprise.

"Dude, what the fuck?!" Stiles shouts. There is literally nothing in the room. It's just the two of them, and a closed window, and suddenly those pamphlets about PTSD are starting to sound a little less crazy. Because yeah, there's no one on his six. Not anywhere but the game, apparently.

"Are you okay?" Scott asks, his eyes dropping into 'concerned puppy who thinks he messed up' mode. Another default of Scotts, really. He's dropped the controller and the game blinks angrily at them from the 'Grats, you died' screen. The game, at this point, has been forgotten by Stiles, who's still trying to convince his adrenal glands that he's not actually about to die, again, at least not yet.

Stiles scrubs his hand over his face and drops back down onto the couch next to Scott, shoving at him to grab his favorite pillow from where the werewolf was currently leaning against it. Kind of a dick move, but Scott made Stiles jump like an idiot, okay, he deserves to lose his freaking pillow.

"Yeah, Scotty, dandy, awesome, peachy keen. Just you know, scared another year off my admittedly already looking pretty short lifespan!" Stiles sasses as he jabs an accusatory finger into the meaty part of Scotts shoulder. He's pretty sure his finger is the only one to really suffer for it, but it drives the point home.

"Squishy human here, prone to bodily harm that lasts longer than 30 seconds? Seriously lacking in the werewolf healing powers? We might play violent video games, but dude, we LIVE one every day." His left leg curled under him while his right side bounces furiously on the floor beside the couch, Stiles reaches over and scoops up his Big Slurp, chomping down vindictively on the straw as he takes a drink.

"Oh, sorry man. I thought you knew. I would have told you if anybody were sneaking up on the house!" Scott perks up. He totally thinks he's an awesome guard dog. Wolf. Werewolf. Whatever. To be completely honest, Stiles has far more faith in the wards he set at the edges of the Stilinksi property than he does in Scott. Scott tends to be a little... distracted.

"I mean, unless it was Allison. She's so good at stealth I can like, never hear her coming if she's trying to be sneaky." Scotts eyes get a bit doe like as his mind wanders into some daydream about Allison, no doubt. Case in point.

"Well Allison," jab jab,"is out with Isaac tonight, picking out your birthday present. She respects Mandatory Bro Night, she's not gonna sneak up on us." The jabbing is accomplishing nothing. If anything, mentioning Isaac only seems to have thrown Scott even further into la-la land. 

If the blushing on his cheeks is any indicator, he's thinking of just what kind of present he'd like to get from his lovers. Beaus? Baes? Stiles almost looses his own train of thought trying to think of the plural word for boyfriend/girlfriend/poly triad love fest that's going down between those three.

"Scott!" this time, Stiles adds just a touch of his Spark to his finger jab, and it's enough of a shock (haha) that the wolf actually yelps and seems to come back to earth.

At least he has the presence of mind to look sorry. Well, sheepish. For a werewolf, Scott sure spends a lot of time looking sheepish.

"Sorry Stiles." He mumbles. Then he seems to perk up. "Hey, do you think they went to that new adult store that opened up? The one that's owned by like, a witch or something?" He looks so hopeful it's almost sad. Stiles pities him.

Or rather, Stiles would pity him if he weren't being a total tool by bringing up his sex life at bro night. Because ew. And also, rude; Scott is fully aware that Stiles is not getting any, of any sort, from anyone. Although, the new shop was pretty cool. And the chick who runs it, Angela, actually has a restricted area that's actually more like an occult Winco, bins and all.

"Angela's a hedgewitch, not a witch witch, and no, I don't think they went there. If anything, they probably went to buy a build a bear gift card, because you are ultimately still a six year old living in a 21 year olds body!" Stiles huffs and slumps back into the cushions, mentally bemoaning his squishy, easily injured status as the 'token human' member of their group. 

Who's also not even getting any action from the town full of theoretically totally action-able other humans. At least, not any action of a sexual nature. Although a homeless guy had tried to hug him last week... Derek and Boyd had both scrunched up their noses in disgust when he arrived at the Pack meeting shortly thereafter. Guy was practically swimming in patchouli, so Stiles could understand.

"You know, there's like, no benefit to being human. I mean, I get to be the Wicked Wizard, and all..." he pauses as Scott rolls his eyes at Stiles self proclaimed title. Stiles kicks him. "... but seriously, being squishy sucks." 

Scott pats his leg sympathetically. "I'm sure it'll get better. I mean, we haven't even been attacked by anything in like, two weeks! That's gotta be a record, right? Maybe all of this stuff is slowing down, like, settling or something, you know?"

Stiles frantically searches the immediate vicinity for anything wooden to knock on, but no luck. Everythings plastic. Or, you know, padded upholstery. 

"Scotty, my main man, you totally just jinxed us. You can't just say shit like that." Stiles heaves a sigh that can really only be uttered by those poor people stuck with having an optimist has a friend. Optimism is dangerous, obviously.

"We'll just buy a whole bunch of bubble wrap, wrap you up, and never let you out of our sight. Or the house!" Oh god, now Scotts excited. He's thinking this is actually an option. Stiles is going to have a permanent outline of his palm on his forehead when he dies, from all the facepalming he has to do to get by.

As if never leaving the house was an option. He'd still need to eat, and exercise (usually in the form of running from whatever was trying to kill him that week), and he'd need to be able to see his friends, his pack, meet his Dad for lunch... Nothing short of suddenly becoming a Casper that could manifest a physical, non-squishy self would do.

Stiles sits bolt upright on the couch, making Scott yelp a very manly wolfman yelp.

"Scott, dude, you're a genius!"

And Scotts not really sure what's going on (original default, practically factory setting), but Stiles looks happy, and so Scott is happy. He hands Stiles his controller back, and they continue their game.

If Scott doesn't notice that Stiles is completely distracted, his mind running a parsec per second with this new idea, well. It's Scott.

~*~

It’s just after 2am, and the only reason Derek even knows this is because some sort of shock wave just tore through the Pack bonds. His bedside clock reads 2:07am. He can feel all the others, newly awoken and confused for the most part, with the exceptions of Lydia (pissed), Jackson and Cora (back asleep already, fuck this noise), and Stiles. The bond that ties Stiles to the Pack is simultaneously incredibly weak and overwhelmingly strong. 

It’s a weird combination. It’s very Stiles.

Though the connection is acting weird, it doesn’t feel like anyone is in danger. Derek presses reassurance through the bonds, sturdy mental cords that tie him to the pack as the Alpha, reassuring them that sleeping is okay, he’ll handle this.  
It’s a far cry from when he’d first become the Alpha. Something like this happening back then would have been a call to arms, dragging everyone out of their beds to face this threat together. But experience, and an appreciation for sleeping when you can, if you can, has taught all of them to leave it their Alpha. Derek will wake them if necessary.

Pulling on a pair of sweats, Derek makes his way to his bedroom door. Stiles room is directly opposite of his; between Stiles odd sleeping hours, or complete lack thereof, and Dereks need to be between the stairs leading to the main floor and the rest of his pack, they’d compromised. Now Stiles room is separated from the others by a pretty unnecessary linen closet, and Dereks room is directly across from his.

Derek knocks at the door to Stiles room, but he can’t hear anything from within. Not that that’s all that strange, between the soundproofing they’d done when they rebuilt the Hale house and Stiles own sound wards. But when there’s no answer at the door, and the bond unwavering from that strange fade in, fade out, Derek forces the handle. There’s no lock on the door, at least not a physical one. Living in a house full of ‘weres with ‘super strength’ kind of made them obsolete. Stiles usually locked the place with wards if he needed privacy. But stepping into Stiles room, Derek notices immediately that something is off.

All of Stiles wards are… well, gone. Not off, not currently de-activated, they are gone as if they never were. Concerned, Derek slips over to Stiles desk and roots around in the desk drawer until he finds a lighter. He strikes the flint and presses the flame against the pale grey painted wall. The flame immediately extinguishes. There’s a brief flash of runes on the wall as the wards ‘assess’ him as a threat. He is Stiles Alpha – he passes.

So the wards and magic that Stile wove into the very bones of the house are still intact, but the ones tied to Stiles himself aren’t. It was now officially time to start worrying. 

Derek tosses the lighter back on the desk and makes his way to Scotts room. He’s most likely to know where Stiles is or where he was going since he isn’t home with the rest of the pack.

Derek is worried. The wolf he shares a soul and body with is worried. As Derek paces down the hall, the wolf starts growling, low, frustrated, concerned.

What has Stiles gotten himself into now?


End file.
